Snow White
by xinde
Summary: Near sees everything: right and wrong, light and dark, yesterday, today, and tomorrow. The one thing he didn't see was the very one that would change his life the most. Loosely based on the fairytale Snow White. Discontinued.
1. Death Cocktail

**Chapter 1: Death Cocktail**

A/N: New story! Can't believe I'm posting this about three months after I started writing it. It's going to be long, as in more than ten chapters, that is… if I ever get around to writing it.

There are actually no apples in this story. I do not own Death Note.

Warnings: female-Beyond, female-Light (already major WTF factor, oh dear)

First chapter is… too prosy, I think. Not hugely gripping. In fact, this whole story is kind of an exercise in different forms of writing. So you get to read the mangled results! Well… no use putting it off now; here we go.

XXX

Black hair black eyes, black hair red eyes; it was inconceivable that their net output would be white hair black eyes. This was, of course, before anyone knew anything about carriers of recessive genes. Even the royal physician couldn't explain the phenomenon. With time, however, it was plain that any unusual physical features were the least of the child's anomalies.

Near didn't speak until he was five; his first words were to Beyond: "Mother, would you like a strawberry?"

The red fruit splotched against his white fingers, making Beyond and Lawliet, shudder. They lived in a land where the people's fears were still ruled by rampant fevers and whispers of the undead, where defiling red on pure white was death incarnate.

And if Near's complexion were not enough to freeze blood, the clothes he insisted on wearing (insisted is not passive enough; rather, he wriggled out of anything else they tried to put on him) were blanched beyond any possibility of hue. He said his eyes hurt from bright colors.

He had disliked sunlight since infancy and didn't set foot outside the palace until he was seven, and then only in the wee hours of the morning the day after his birthday. His nurse had sworn she'd put him to bed that evening and fallen asleep on the night watch (Near had mild sleep apnea), but Beyond found him the next morning curled up in a circle of dewy azalea. For a moment she wondered why the mischievous sprites hadn't danced right out of _A Midsummer Night's Dream _and raised up a fairy ring around him in the night, but then she reminded herself that this was _her _son, that he was unusual and unique and everything else that flustered parents substituted for 'freak' when lovingly describing their children. He was magical enough without the courtesy of Shakespeare's impish creatures.

As to why he had gotten out there, Beyond remembered the bouquet she had placed in Near's room the morning of his birthday, pastel colors of forget-me-nots and pale carnations to spruce up the tomb-like room. Perhaps he was not completely averse to color and life, she thought as she watched her son wading through bushes half his height, trowel and pliers in hand, the gleam of pure content in his eyes, eyes that saw everything.

Near's greatest joy in life lay in observing his rows upon rows of perfectly laid out flowers, watching them grow to maturity because he had provided them with what they needed. However, he knew also that flowers withered and died, that life could not last forever, that the world tended to ever-increasing chaos, and that he was not exempt from the disorder.

Therefore, it came as no surprise to him when Beyond succumbed to an asthma attack one day and stopped breathing for too long. Near was twelve. He and Lawliet had been conveniently away from the palace that day. They had returned to a shambles, which Lawliet plunged into to sort out with his typical ministerial efficacy, but amid the chaos, he might have missed the very convincing display of grief Beyond's newest, brown-eyed chambermaid was putting on. A little too convincing, truth be told; the two months she'd spent in service didn't seem long enough to form a massive emotional attachment. Near saw it all, of course, saw the wavy brown tresses slipping around corners of the labyrinthine palace, bobbing out a back exit and disappearing.

At some point, reality caught up with the pale boy, and paler tears watered the black rose in a vase by his bed. A real black rose, the result of cross-pollinating several generations of the darkest blue specimens he could find, and with what intent in mind? Likely not to commemorate the passing of his mother; no more likely to celebrate another, still less savory event.

A king should never be without a queen. Light was the exquisite wife of Lawliet's late younger brother, whom spontaneous heart failure had taken early from this world. He had actually taken his leave a few months prior to Beyond, leaving Light alone with her son from (dare we surmise?) her first marriage to yet another nameless nobleman. Her son's name was Mello.

We are still operating in that day and age where it was right and proper, and indeed, a moral obligation for a man to take his brother's wife for his own following her bereavement, because a solitary woman is the devil's snare, for her own soul and for others'. God forbid that Lawliet should abandon Light due to mere sentiment for his wife now in heaven. Life, after all, is for the living.

And so Near crouched in the little garden shed that still smelled like strawberries and honey after two years, waiting for the wedding ceremony to begin so that he could escape back to his rooms without being noticed. Snow fell, and he wouldn't have to work hard to blend in, but he didn't fancy his chances freezing outside. Perhaps whoever had seen to it that Beyond and Lawliet's brother both died conveniently (because there had to have been someone; these things didn't happen by chance) would look after his disposal as well, but he wasn't about to take any active measures himself.

XXX

Likely the only honest words that had ever come out of Light's mouth were these ones to Mello: "I love you."

That is, if you defined "love" using Light's dictionary and not the ordinary definition that didn't involve serial murder, fraud, and infidelity. The things Light did for her so-called love…

Mello was two years older than Near, yet he didn't know his mother's plans for him as she bundled him off onto what she called a "grand tour" of the land the day after the wedding. He would be traveling through all the provinces, meeting local petty nobles that probably didn't hold a candle to his natural graces, but had to be charmed and cajoled anyhow, all in the name of the new royal game, diplomacy. It was the sort a task the crown prince would be expected to take under his wing when the time came, barring one fact: Mello was not the crown prince.

He was, however, fourteen years old and quite excited to be spending a year in the equivalent of a modern day study abroad program. Light waited until the train of his delegation had faded beyond the horizon before turning to her own business at home. Her agenda:

Get Lawliet eating out of her hand by the time Mello returned.

Get the rest of the nobility to follow suit.

Figure out what to do about that white rat of Lawliet's, what was his unnatural name? Neil or something?

A/N: So how was it? Not too terribly sleep-inducing, I hope. Confusing, maybe? Reveals will come in later chapters. Anyways, review please, dears!


	2. What At First Sight?

**Chapter 2: What at First Sight?**

**April 10th**

_A garden appeals to all five of the senses,_ Near thought as he crouched among the flower beds, his fingers knotted in weeds.

_Yellow. Bright. Chirrup, chirrup. Wind in my hair. Bzzzzzzz. Petals, delicate, sticky nectar. Honey sweet fragrance. Moist soil, clumps under my fingers. Ugh, bugs taste bad. Although there are far more pernicious tastes in some of my plants._

Enter a phenomenon layered in black, darker than the shades of any flower. Its footfalls echoed with purpose on cobblestones in a garden where sound meandered aimlessly; that was about all Near's sharp eyes and ears could pick up. So what sixth sense told Near how smooth that golden hair would be under his fingers, velvet like well-kept grass? And how did he know the softness of those cherubic lips even as stone cold words grated past them?

"What have we here, some ancient freak that's escaped from the dungeons?"

He was not speaking _to _Near, nor to anyone else, for no one accompanied him. _Speaking to yourself; who's the freak, I wonder?_ Near mused.

Then the voice's owner strayed closer , the feet stalking to the edge of the flower beds, and Near's sixth sense looked up, past the cold blue eyes into an even icier soul. He shivered in spite of a warm breeze.

Blue eyes with nothing behind them… Near wondered if he was looking in a mirror. What would his reflection say to himself?

"I am Near," he tried, his voice quavering slightly, though only because a particularly thorny weed was doing battle with his fingers.

The frozen eyes, which had regarded him with all the indifference of the surrounding marble statues, now shifted. The light in them was no longer cold and distant, like the morning sun's rays. Near watched as fire grew, a bonfire, a forest fire consuming those eyes, on the verge of leaping out to devour the whole garden. Out of control, rampaging, blue so cold it burned more than ice, and the words from the lips were each a smoldering hailstone from a fiery heaven: "You're Near?"

Near bent his head in a courtesy nod, which only served to further inflame the burning one.

"The king's son? But of course, what better place to train the heir apparent than here, with the dirt and worms!" he spat.

Near blinked. He wasn't sitting in _that_ much dirt; most surfaces were covered with plants, and worms were very necessary for healthy plants.

"And do you really hope to ascend the throne this way?" his antagonist plunged onwards. "King Near, Lord of Weeds? Aphids and snails may bow down to Your Majesty Snow White, but I shall not!"

Detaching himself from the tirade that would not end, Near vaguely decided that the boy must be younger than he looked. He also looked nicer than he was. Near tugged intently at another weed. His fingernails searched deeper, burrowing through soil to locate the roots. As he finally began to yank the stubborn root out, he felt the shift again.

The voice was trembling, the breaths in between were shorter and more effortful. The words faltered, then stuttered to a halt; the breaths wheezed on, rattling, gasping, choking…

Near sprang to his feet with remarkable agility for someone who spent so much time crouched to the ground. The breaths were fading, the body was on the ground, still, too still. Near had seen it before; he had been too late the last time, but this time he was prepared.

The jar of honey sat on the shelf in the shanty where it always had, docile and sweet, like the mother Near once had, and perhaps the memory of her could save another heart before it stopped beating. Near flew to the place where Mello lay- for it was he, Mello- and opened the jar.

XXX

Mello opened his eyes, or did they open of their own accord? He felt too tired to command anything at all, even his own eyes. But whether he willed them or not, they opened to meet a pair of grey eyes. That his first thoughts were "What beautiful eyes" and not "That no-count bastard Near" attests to the beauty of the poison that is asthma.

Mello hadn't much time to rearrange his thoughts to the latter before he realized two things.

First, that he was lying on the ground, in as unprincely a manner as possible, also that he was in the shade of a tree, rather than on the open path where he had fallen.

Second, that the hell-hailing albino was offering him a cup of tea.

"Mullein leaves clear your lungs like nothing else can," Near said by way of explanation, wrapping Mello's still clammy hands around the handle. So Mello did the only logical thing he could in the situation: he took a sip.

"I'm sure you've had other remedies, but you won't find any better than this."

A flicker of the old fire flared behind Mello's eyes. So Near thought he was the best? But…

XXX

Near watched the shadow of the flame wavering, like a lonely candle wishing to grow taller, but far too worn out at the wick to do so. Confused and tired, it could only burn to a stub and melt into waxy complacency.

Occupied as he was with observing Mello's eyes, he barely heard the golden words. Near stared harder

Mello didn't look inclined to repeat himself. So Near decided to practice his neglected skills of hospitality and began to gather mullein into a basket. "I thought you might like some in case you suffer another bout. The leaves don't need to steep very long, though they are best while fresh." _You're welcome,_ he added in his head.

Mello's brow furrowed. "No, don't-" he began. "I mean, please don't trouble yourself…"

"At least take a few sprigs," Near pressed. "They're not so very fragrant, but the yellow blooms are quite pleasant to see." _They're also as colorful as your hair._

A very flustered Mello all but seized the plants in Near's outstretched hand and fled the scene, but not before Near heard the words again: "Thank you."

He smiled, suddenly and briefly.

A/N: If you got this far, I applaud you. Idk, I feel that some descriptions were a bit rambly and/or unnecessary. Pffffff… oh well, I hope you at least enjoyed the plot and that Mello and Near were not OOC. Haha, see, I already gave you three excellent points to talk to me about. So please review and tell me what you think. Really, please do. The button below is calling you…


	3. Friends

**Chapter 3: Friends**

A/N: Forgot to say this for the last chapter, but I do not own Death Note.

This chapter is mostly development. I tried to use a different POV/style for each of Mello and Near's meetings. And different flowers. Sigh… I don't even like flowers much. My mom does, though. Maybe it's an old people thing?

**April 12th**

"And what might these be?" the leaf green eyes inquired as they twinkled over a vase of bright yellow flowers.

Mello studiously ignored the unspoken question in favor of staring out the window facing onto the gardens. Matt didn't have to look far. His late grandfather, Quillsh, had served as warden of the royal hunt, and Matt had sought to equal his capacity to spot game. Yet even without keen eyes, it would have been impossible to miss the spot of white among the greenery.

"Get away from the window," Mello snapped. "If the old harpy finds out I've smuggled you here, she'll flay you alive and send me abroad."

"Don't be a fool; she never walks in the garden. She's got more queenly duties," Matt retorted.

"Yes, you would know, because you spend _so_ much time there in the garden."

"I do, actually," Matt said nonchalantly. "We hunting boys often have to collect herbs and stuff, you know, for sick dogs and horses."

"Oh. I didn't know that."

_Many are the things, _Matt smirked.

XXX

**June 8th**

I wondered if he'd return. I didn't hope, as I've learned not to expect too much from royalty, myself included. But Mello has no rules.

Sunflowers. The truth is they're not heliotropic; they actually always face east to greet the rising sun.

I just personified sunflowers. No, no, no. It is _not_ as if they are adoring subjects paying homage to their radiant king. Actually no, they seem to be regarding the approaching Mello in that light.

The early days of summer, and the sun came early, but Mello came earlier. Dawn found us face to face once again, after two months.

"Imagine giving a lady one of these giants," he remarked of a sunflower almost as wide as his face. "She'd probably be quite miffed at the quantity, but mass ought to make up for numbers, don't you think?"

I crouched between two stalks; it was much less taxing than standing.

"Technically, each sunflower is made of dozens of flowerlets, all of which produce seeds independently of one another. Thus, each is its own flower, and so a lady ought to be grateful for the dozens she receives."

"I can't tell if you're being sarcastic, or if you are really so unconceiving of women's quantitative floral desires."

It wasn't an explicit question, I rationalized, so I left him to form his own conclusions as I kneaded compost into a fresh bed.

"All the same, I think it's quite amazing how nature manages to arrange all these little flowers into a perfect circle. I can't help but declare it evidence of God's existence."

I stared at the golden curtain that hid Mello's face as he ducked his hand to examine an "amazing" sunflower. As a nobleman, he was matchless in making small talk, but to what purpose did he employ his skills on me, whom he so heartily despised?

Well, if he wanted small talk, I would gladly supply it.

"The flowers' distribution is not actually completely random," I said matter-of-factly. "I've deduced a rather simple formula that explains their method right down to the last flowerlet…"

By the time I finished, he had been staring slack jawed at me for over a minute. I didn't presume to attribute his figurative drooling to my attractive features.

"How long did it take you to work that out?" he blurted when he realized I'd stopped talking.

"No less than six months."

"But… but why would you waste your time with a math model for sunflowers?"

_I smell a rat- excuse me, _rant- c_oming along… _

"What is your purpose? If you become king, will people revere you for figuring out this formula? Can you earn respect, fame, or wealth from it? What was the point? Life is too short to waste on such things, you know."

He had it all in him to be a king. He loved pushing his opinions onto others, loved for people to see him in all his glory, loved talking to anyone so long as they knew and honored who he was, and most of all, loved assuming his own omniscience.

"You seem to operate under the misconception that I am like you, Mello," I replied. "Nothing you care for could remotely interest me. I love plants, and that's all. Life is short; I know that better than anyone. I've lost both parents. But I'd much rather spend my time doing what I like."

He bowed his head. Perhaps his shame wouldn't give him the kingship.

"And come to think of it, aren't you the one after the throne? There's no reason ascension should even be considered a goal of mine. Do you see me as a king?"

"I don't really see you as much of anything."

"Smartest thing you've said so far."

"Well." He paused. "Aren't you so sunny. Your flowers must've rubbed off on you."

"Absolutely. Perhaps you'd like some too?"

XXX

**August 24th: **Near's birthday. Specifically, his sixteenth.

What the royal household is doing to celebrate it:

A possible exception: His Highness Mello.

His destination: The circle of hyacinths where Near kneels, methodically clipping a few buds from each plant.

The first one to speak: Most unusually, Near.

"Hyacinths?": A delicate indigo bud, almost black against the bloodless hand, and Mello is absurdly reminded of the timorous servants at every royal gala Light's forced him to grace with his presence. The thought makes him decline with a shudder.

"Cloudy skies, Mello?": A nearly poetic way of saying, "You look under the weather."

"My mother seems to think that I'll be king in a few years.": Mello was never one for beating around the bush.

"She keeps saying things along the lines of 'When you are king, you ought to do such-and-such things,' or 'Observe my actions now, for someday you shall emulate me.'": Mello dearly hopes he won't.

Near's comforting words: None, really. He's not sure why Mello's eyes are so pensive. Isn't the kingdom what he wants?

Near's comforting actions: He pats the crumbly earth beside him. Mello sits.

He finds his voice at last: "Don't you want to?"

Now who's the mute swan?: Mello doesn't seem to know what he wants.

What he suspects it is: Nea- no. Oh dear God no. He's not ready to face that yet.

How Mello visualizes his predicament: A game of tug-o-war between Near and Light. Light is pulling with herculean effort, but the grass beneath Near's feet is hardly ruffled. In fact, he stands at attention, fist curled loosely around the rope, as Light's sleek hair comes unbound, her breath comes in heavy pants, and the flag in the middle marked M comes inexorably closer to Near's end.

How Near visualizes Mello's predicament: Via the Greek myth of Hyacinthus.

The story of Hyacinthus: Hyacinthus was a very beautiful Greek boy who was loved by two gods, Apollo the god of the sun, and Zephyr the god of the west wind. Each tried to keep the boy's attention to himself. Apollo was teaching Hyacinthus how to throw a discus one day, and Zephyr was so jealous that he caused the wind to strike the discus into Hyacinthus's head, killing him. Flowers sprouted from the droplets of blood that spilled, and Apollo named them hyacinth.

"The end," Near says with finality: "The end?" Mello blurts. "If you're trying to fit you, me, and Light into the story, this is just the beginning."

"Exactly," Near says, now arranging hyacinths in a sky-blue vase: Mello could have sworn the vase was not there a moment ago.

Near forges on: "At the risk of sounding paranoid and alienating you, I suggest you keep yourself within your mother's confidence. Do not give her reason to be jealous."

"What if I want her to be?": "Do you have a death wish, my friend? If you do, please waive it for my sake; today is my birthday."

The typical surprised reaction: "It is? I'm sorry, I didn't know, so I haven't got anything for you, but if there's anything you want-"

"Your friendship.": Near knows what he wants.

"My…": Is it too much to ask?

"You have just given me yours; I gladly give you mine since you ask.": Good heavens, the things, innocent and otherwise, they could be referring to.

Near extends the vase to Mello: Accepted this time.

XXX

**October 15th**

Sometimes, when Near feels more romantic, he dreams about a rosy world where the only chains are made of daisies. Unfortunately, the world is much blacker than that- not even black and white, just black.

Just Mello.

But Near can't really explain to Mello why he persists in stringing the daisies together anyways.

Secretly, they both think the daisies are for the two of them, white hair yellow hair, to bond them together forever.

Or maybe just as long as the daisies last. The world is black, remember?

Black as the thin book lying open at an innocently blank page on Light's writing desk. Black as its owner's gaze when she turns back a page and eyes what is written:

Nate Lawliet

Nathan Lawliet

Nat Lawliet

A/N: The sunflower formula is something I came across on Wikipedia. People like Near really do spend all their time figuring these things out. Anyways, how was it? Is Mello and Near's relationship progressing convincingly? Aren't you glad Matt's showed up? Does stuff make sense? It often does in my head, and then somewhere between my brain and the word document, it gets translated into gibberish. Please review no matter how unintelligible it is! :)


	4. Mirror, Mirror

**Chapter 4: Mirror, Mirror**

A/N: Fluffy chapter ahead! Also emo poetry chapter. I would have done sonnets if I'd had the patience… perhaps you'll be satisfied with blank verse.

Don't own Death Note, how sad.

**December 12th**

… now comes a time with no sun in the sky,

Or better, with no sky at all, only

A yawning plain, a snowy stain of white

Burns even through my sandpapered eyelids.

A stillness in which I could cry out loud,

Yet feel my forlorn words, mere wisps of smoke,

Wafting away upon an airless breeze

And leaching into colorless silence.

Frost light as tulle drapes leafless trees in veils,

Stark branches drawing faintly shadowed stripes,

Ink on paper, ground dry as old parchment,

And on hewn stone, a lonely grayscale soul:

He- ashes to ashes, and dust to dust,

Or stone to stone; be he statue or hale?

One leg curled up, one dangling off the ground,

So distant from the earth, his fountainhead.

Yet had she had her way, I would have been

The one to finally separate him from it;

Rather would I visit the ninth circle

Than send my one to ivory gates so soon.

XXX

"Happy early birthday, Mello."

I sat beside him and didn't wonder long at how he knew. Of course he did.

"Sometimes I think about my birthdays," he said. He didn't say _the ones I had before my parents died._

"I used to like strawberries a lot. They don't grow so well this far north, so my mother would import a shipment every year for my birthday. They were her favorite too."

_Speaking of mothers…_

"Your mother seems to favor apples, though," Near observed blithely. "I once saw an entire caravan of servants carting baskets of apples up to her quarters. How she managed to eat them all before they rotted remains one of the few mysteries of this palace that I cannot solve."

_Near, you _would_ just keep talking, almost without a care, about that vulture, when all she wants is-_

"Are you all right, Mello? You're awfully quiet today."

_Yes. Yes, I am, even as tears spill down my face like errant glasses of spilled milk. Near likes milk, I think. He likes me more, though._

The things that fill one's head when an exsanguinated midget that won't wear a coat in in the snow is hugging you.

And as I continued to cry enough to fill several glasses, he scooted into my lap and stared up at me. "She wants me dead, doesn't she?"

No. No, there was no way Near could be that informed. He had to be a mind reader or something. Maybe he grew some herb that conferred psychic powers?

"It's a logical conclusion," he said. "You started crying right after I talked about your mother. At first I thought you might have been crying about the apples' demise, but you've never demonstrated any particular attachment to apples in the months that I've known you. So I guessed the next most likely cause was something involving your mother and me."

"No," I choked out. "My mother, you, _and _me."

-earlier-

"You know I only want the best for you, dearest son," she simpered. The lords, ladies, and servants of the court had all been dismissed for this heart-to-heart talk of ours, giving her lease to turn on her "torture Mello's ears with saccharin" voice.

"All mothers do," I responded equivocally. I wasn't going to unknowingly pledge myself to what _she _wanted just yet. So much for heart-to-heart; it was more her heart on my deaf ears than anything.

"Of course. But _I _want the very best for my prince," she blathered on. "And what prince doesn't dream of being king someday?"

_The one standing in front of you, woman. And the one outside in the snow._

"Fortunately for you, that doesn't have to be a dream for you. It can become reality any time you choose. The truth is, the moment that bloodless white rat dies, you are the king."

There was a mirror on the wall above her throne, and I thought wildly of the soothsaying looking glass in a fairytale that belonged to a queen regent no more vile than my own. It didn't tell me who was the fairest of them all, though; all it showed me was how my face blanched when Light more or less passed the death sentence on Near.

Light's eyes were closed, possibly in ecstasy at the idea of Near's cheeks paling eternally. "However, I am not saying that the kingdom will be given to you scotch free. I think you will not consider it below you to… earn your keep?"

"What do you mean, mother?" _Please don't let this be what I think it is._

"Consider how easy it would be," she whispered conspiratorially. "A little drop of something with his afternoon tea. His heart wasn't strong in the first place, he was anemic, he had bad blood, the doctors will say anything as long as it pleases me. You don't even have to stain your own hands; souls can be bought, as many as you need with royal gold. _This _is the power you can have when you are sitting here," she patted the throne fondly, "the power… over life."

-present-

Now fingertips like falling petals glide

Across the tear tracks, brushing them away,

And it's not so cold now, surprisingly

Until I realize how close he is.

Warm breath on frosted cheeks, just kiss me now:

So he obliges, and I think that I'll

Just stop right here, because no words can say

How it feels, really, when Near kisses you.

XXX

Several seconds (minutes? Centuries?) passed before he extricated himself and said quite evenly, "I'm glad that wasn't a kiss of death. Even though now that I've kissed you, I could probably die happily."

"Did you really think I'd do her dirty work for her?"

"Well, no. Oh, never mind. Let's just do that again."

My final thoughts before our lips met again and all thoughts were banished: _someone needs to teach Near proper romantic love talk._

_Who better than I?_

"By the way," he interrupted. How were we supposed to get anything done if he kept interjecting? "I got you a birthday present."

"Is it flowers?"

He pouted at my foresight. "It's not my fault if I haven't got anything surprising for you. I do my best. So now, get up and I'll show you."

"Er…" I stalled. "Can't…"

He gave me a pointed look.

"Right." Placing my arms around his shoulders and knees, I rose without much difficulty and followed his directions to a small cluster of frozen trees, in the center of which grew-

"Narcissus, for your birth month. Rather appropriate," Near pronounced. "Bring me closer to the ground."

"Right bossy you are today, my prince," I murmured, but did it anyway. He leaned over and plucked two sprigs of the pale white-and-yellow buds. "And I know you're about to tell me the myth of Narcissus, but I already know it. Just one thing I'd like to make clear: I'm not in love with myself."

"Because you're in love with me?"

"Yeah."

A/N: Yeah, I feel like Mello is getting to be too much of a wimp in this story. But he _will _man up soon. I will make him. And I will stop putting words in your mouth and let you review yourself! Please…?


	5. Realizations

**Chapter 5: Realizations**

A/N: Big reveal chapter! And everyone's favorite redhead is starring! What more could you want?

**February 2nd**

"You must be Mello's good friend."

Matt blinked. "Er… well, yes."

"And you are going to tell me that Mello is unable to visit me this month."

"Well, that's my job done then."

Black eyes flickered upwards uncertainly for the first time.

"You don't want me to- can I stay for a bit?" Matt interpreted.

"Yes."

Silence, punctuated by rustles of pale fingers twisting in paler hair.

"He'll be back next month, he promised," Matt said, as much to reassure himself as Near. "It's funny," he rushed on, unheeding of the languorous blinking of the huge, round eyes before him. "I met him almost two years ago, when he went on his first grand round. It's weird not to be with him the second time around."

"Did he ask you not to go with him?"

"Yeah, he was pretty adamant about it, the whole if-Light-catches-us deal again," Matt scowled. "You know about that, I suppose?"

"I know that we're in the same boat," Near murmured.

"Right you are. And it's damn stormy out there."

Near withdrew a pair of gloves (black, most unusually) from a pocket and donned them. "I imagine," he said tonelessly, "that I would be more likely to capsize if it came down to the queen's choice."

"What, you think she'd try to kill you?"

"I know she will. She already has."

Matt plopped down onto the pebbly pathway next to Near. The tale promised to be long and interesting, that is, if he could coax it out of those pursed lips. Near glanced at the expectant redhead and sighed, his glove hands worrying at a small weedlike plant with bulbous, narrow, purple flowers.

"It was fifteen months ago," he began. "I was climbing one of the camphor trees next to the palace to aerially observe the layout of my flower beds. I heard laughter, and I looked towards the palace. Light was standing by a window. She appeared to be writing something in a book, and then it seemed that she was reading over what she wrote, or perhaps mouthing it silently; I couldn't hear from the distance. Her expression was fearsome. It looked like she had a toothache while simultaneously delivering a Gaul battle cry."

_That's a colorful description from such a bland-looking boy, _Matt thought. _I wonder if Mello's rubbed off on him._

"Back then, I always carried an eyepiece comprising a pair of looking glasses joined by a leather strap; my father had it made for me before when I expressed a brief interest in bird watching. So I used it to read Light's lips."

"You can read lips?"

"Sir Rester taught me one year when I had an ear infection and could hardly hear anything. He was my tutor until Light banished him, along with everyone else at court I was fond of.

"What I read from Light was this: 'L Lawliet chokes to death during dinner on November 5th."

"What day was it then?"

"November 4th. I didn't wake up until the 6th."

"…"

"I fell out of the tree after I read her words and cracked my skull and my hipbone. I don't walk much anymore, though I still do a lot of thinking."

Matt sat agape, struggling to make sense of all this information. "So what happened? How did she predict Lawliet's death?"

"She didn't predict it. She caused it."

"Then she must be some sort of sorceress, if she can kill people with a book!" Matt exclaimed. "Does Mello-"

Then it struck Matt that Mello was Light's son. Purportedly. And although Matt knew nothing of Mendelian genetics at this time, it was widely held that witchcraft ran in families.

"Mello is no dilettante of the occult," Near snapped, uncharacteristically brusque. "He has no desire to harm anyone, and he knows nothing of his mother's writing horrific stage directions on the play of life. I would advise you not to enlighten him unless you wish him to die thus horrifically."

"How do you reckon that?" _Maybe Near's just one of those half-empty glass people… more like, the glass is full but due to an optical illusion he thinks it's empty anyways… _

"Mello is… rash," Near said. "His heart is about twice the size of his brain. If he thinks that anyone he loves may come to harm, he will throw himself headfirst into the fray without a thought for his own safety."

"But this is serious," Matt countered. "Light could be using her powers to kill anyone she dislikes, and no one would ever know. It's not right."

Near flicked a stray pebble back towards the stone path. "How old are you, Matt?"

"Actually, I turned eighteen yesterday."

"You're very young, then."

"Um-"

"Look who's talking, yes, I know. _I _happen to be talking. And what I say is this: what would you have me do? Light may be evil, but she's not a fool. She won't leave evidence, and she won't leave anyone who speaks against her with a voice, or even the breath in their lungs."

"You're a genius, Mello says. Your brain must be at least as large as Mello's heart. You can figure something out, can't you?"

"My brain is adequate; what I happen to lack is the heart." Near closed his eyes for a second. "I believe it's called motivation."

"Were you always like this?"

Near shrugged.

"Well, aren't you afraid? You said she will try to kill you, but if you stop her before she does, you don't have to be afraid."

Near picked up a trowel (again with that magic of drawing objects from seemingly nowhere) and started to dig around one of the flowering plants' roots. "I am sure that she has already tried. I doubt she will succeed, however, because you see, my name is listed on the royal family tree as Nate Lawliet, which Light will take to be my true name. Yet, it is not."

"Care to explain?" Matt asked as Near seemed content to continue digging.

"You ask too many questions," Near said. "If you must know, my father changed my surname in secret after my mother died. I'm not sure what spurred his action, but he must have had a reason. His was a brilliant mind until he wed Light. Perhaps he was acting to protect me. I can't imagine how he could have known about Light's murderous intent beforehand, though… and to answer your previous question, no, I was not always like this. But to be honest with you, not that I haven't been this whole time, I'm not afraid to die."

"Spare the heroics, please."

"The thing is that I can't really be classified as unafraid of death because I don't really care if I die or not. Being unafraid of death implies that one doesn't want to die but will not shy away from death if it comes. However, I am indifferent to both life and death. I simply don't have the heart to care, nor do I have anything to live for, when it comes down to it."

Matt surveyed the white figure before him. Arrayed for the bridal, one might say, but Matt had heard that way off in the Orient, in China, white was the color of mourning. They weren't in China, but Near certainly looked like he was digging his own grave. And he was pale as a corpse. Everything about him pointed to death, it seemed, except…

"You're not so smart after all, are you, Near?"

Near had the _heart _to look slightly snubbed.

"You _do _have a heart. It just belongs to Mello. And you do have something to live for, or rather, someone. Mello told me about the last time he visited. Seems like he's got a new item on his agenda: deflect his mother's attempts to marry him off." Matt grinned in spite of the gravity of his realization.

Near said nothing. Matt wondered if his revelatory words had even been heard, but surely they had, because Near had stopped digging, whatever he was digging for, jesters' skulls or herbaceous roots or gleaming gold or what will you…

After several minutes of Near and Matt indulging in contemplation (more like fidgeting and wondering what was for supper in Matt's case), the former stirred and spoke. "You said it was your birthday yesterday?"

XXX

**N**o longer dead to the world

**A**fter a certain blonde entered his life.

**T**ries to scuttle back into his hermit crab shell;

**E**nds up getting dragged out of it by obnoxious redhead.

**R**etrospectively, he's glad it happened;

**I**t's pretty lonely down here.

**V**iolets don't make such great company,

**E**xcept these particular flowers aren't violets.

**R**emembers it was Matt's birthday.

XXX

**M**uch to Matt's surprise, Near likes giving presents.

**A**re you sure you want to give me these?

**I** don't bird watch anymore. Besides, your grandfather made them.

**L**ord above, he's right, they've got the Q insignia.

**J**ust one more thing: Near proffers flowers, as he always does.

**E**mpty hands now clasp indigo blossoms:

**E**xcellent, I've had my eye on that chamber girl of Light's, I think her name's Misa?

**V**ixen, don't waste flowers on her. Do you know what this flower is?

**A**conitum. Wormwood. The same plant: beautiful blossoms and deadly roots.

**S**upposed to be a metaphor for Misa? -No. A metaphor for life.

XXX

Mihael Keehl, as seen by Nate:

**M**akes the sun hide its face for shame.

**I**mperfect (what did you think?)

**H**ow do I do you justice?

**A**nger-filled and asphyxiation-prone, especially when upset (most of the time?)

**E**ntropy-inducer

**L**ove of mine.

XXX

Mihael Keehl, as seen by Mail:

**K**nows what he's going to have to choose between:

**E**ither Light, or Near.

**E**nding: probably a la Romeo and Juliet, no matter who he chooses.

**H**ow do I figure that out?

**L**ove bites (you in the -insert sensitive body part here-). Well, I wouldn't know from experience.

XXX

A/N: Information overload? Acrostics may have been a bit confusing. Heh. Well, you know what to do- review! Hey, that rhymes.


	6. Dittany of Crete

**Chapter 6: Dittany of Crete**

A/N: Super short chapter, sorry guys Just me being a Minimalist elitist/lazy derp, hehe. I hope you like the style in the first part.

I don't own Death Note, forever and always.

XXX

Dittany of Crete: _[n.]_

1. Tender perennial plant with velvety hair and pink lavender flowers; possesses healing properties; grows only in the wild mountainsides of Crete; serves flavoring, medicinal, and ornamental purposes

2. Flowering plant that has mysteriously showed up in Near's room.

Window, closed: _[n.]_ pane of glass against which gravel is thrown to attract attention from the other side.

Window, open: _[n.]_

1. Result of above action.

2. Entrance through which Mello accesses Near's third floor room via grappling hook and rope ladder.

Kiss, heated: _[n.]_ mutual act of osculation by which Mello and Near celebrate their reunion.

Seventy-two: _[adj.]_ duration (in seconds) of above action.

Scintillating:_ [adj.]_ describes luminosity of Near's eyes as he asks, "Where did you get them?"

Secret: _[n.]_ Where Mello got the dittany.

Mischievous: _[adj.]_ Near's tone - "You know that the brave men who ventured to collect these from steep mountainsides in Crete were considered the most ardent lovers?"

Pinker: _[adv.]_ hue of Mello's cheeks relative to the blossoms in Near's vase.

Death: _[n.]_

1. Acc. Near - "What those passionate Cretan gallants risked to retrieve their buds."

2. Acc. Mello - "What I'm risking by meeting you here right now."

Life: _[n.]_ What neither can imagine without the other.

Kiss, tender: _[n.]_ meeting of lips during which Mello draws Near closer, finger tracing the lines of his jaw, as Near melts against him.

Breathless: _[adj.]_ state of their lungs ex post facto.

Anything: _[n.]_ what Mello would do for Near.

Examples:_ [n.]_ Near inquires.

1. Live for you.

2. Die for you.

3. Kill for you.

4. Save you.

Saving: _[n.]_ Near needs it.

Away: _[adv.]_ where Near wants to be.

Promise: _[n.]_ "I'll take you away from here," Mello said, pressing a blossom to Near's lips and then to his own. "And we'll never come back."

Never: _[adv.]_ a dangerous word.

Kiss, passionate: _[n.]_ the child of a young promise and fresh hope.

Bed: _[n.]_ where passionate kisses sometimes lead people, our young princes being no exception.

Regret: _[n.]_ something they don't feel amid the aroma of Cretan dittany and the night's long humidity.

XXX

Light pursed her lips and tapped a finger on the armrest of her throne.

"Send for Mikami," she ordered Matsuda, her newest page (a long succession before him had consecutively been dismissed for various faults). "I will be in my chamber."

As the page boy flounced off (strike number one), Light allowed herself a faint twitch of her lips.

XXX

"Good morning, Near."

"Gbbbdngg," Near said. He meant to say "Good morning" as well, but his face was inconveniently buried in someone's chest.

… oh right.

"Sleep well?" Mello inquired, rather solicitously, or so Near thought.

"I don't remember doing much actual sleeping last night," he muttered, a faint color flooding his cheeks.

"I suppose you're right."

"I always am," Near said. "I think I am also right in saying that there is no time for us to be wasting away in bed." Saying so, he began to squirm out of Mello's limp arms.

"Where do you think you're going?" Mello said, rolling onto his back while holding Near captive on top of him. "And what makes you think we are wasting time?"

Near propped himself up on his elbows.

"I'm going out tomorrow," he said. "As in, leaving the city," he clarified at a look from Mello. "Once a year, around this time, I travel with an escort to discover the most beautiful spring blooms and bring home new specimens. I haven't yet packed, and we leave at dawn tomorrow."

"Who's going with you?" Mello said. His body tensed under Near's.

"Just some guard from the queen's regiment. A different one every time; I guess they don't form attachments quickly," Near said lightly. When Mello did not relax, he said, "Love, your jealous face is lovely, but I'd like to spare your blood pressure and tell you now: the man will probably prefer women."

Mello blinked up at Near. Jealousy had not even crossed his heart. Rather, he was running a quick profile on each member of the queen's guard. For Near's sake, however, he put on his best "relieved lover" look. "Well then. Why don't I help you pack, and when we're done, we can go down to breakfast? Separately, of course," he added.

"Sounds like a plan," Near agreed.

XXX

"Do you understand what you are to do?" Light enunciated softly.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Then do not fail, Mikami."

XXX

A/N: Dun, dun, dunnnnn… here's a present for you all. Search "snow white apple decal" on Google and you will find very interesting stuff! I saw someone with one of these when I was on a plane some time ago, and the weirdest thing was that I was writing this very story in my notebook! Coincidence or fate?


	7. Lost

**Chapter 7: Lost**

A/N: Don't own.

XXX

"Glad to see me?"

Near looked properly at the face under the hood; as a rule, he was more interested in what lay at people's feet than what their faces held. Then it occurred to him that if he continued to abide by this rule, he was likely to be kidnapped by people like Matt.

"I didn't think you were under the queen's command," Near commented.

"I'm not," Matt said. "I answer to her son alone."

"I think he couldn't less appreciate your emphasis on their relationship," Near criticized. Then he thought about what Matt was implying.

"What is Mello doing?"

"Shhh," Matt said. He strode towards the gates, gesturing for Near to follow.

-the day before-

"So what's got your panties in a twist now?" Matt said, fiddling with the strap of Near's goggles where they hung around his neck.

"This. Is. Serious," Mello said through gritted teeth. They were alone in the stable, but shadows loomed large on the walls. The queen had ears everywhere, he knew, so he hastened to continue, "She's getting Mikami to escort Near out of town and to his grave."

He had Matt's attention after that.

"So, I need a substitute."

He looked at Matt expectantly.

"Oh, right. I volunteer," Matt said, rolling his eyes profusely. "I'll need about an hour to scrape together the necessary disguise."

"Excellent. There's also the issue of dealing with Mikami himself-"

"Poison," Matt said in a bored tone.

"Yes, I agree, but-"

"Here," Matt said, reaching inside his vest to withdraw some crumpled, dried plants with purple flowers. "Near said the roots, ground into powder, induce nausea, paralysis, and coma within two hours."

Mello's teeth clicked as his jaw unclenched, gaping at Matt's preparedness. "Matt, you are a godsend, and I am hereafter forever in your service."

"Don't count your flowers before they bloom- and _don't _touch them with your bare hands!" Matt hissed not a moment too soon. Mello withdrew his hand sharply.

"Since when did you subscribe to Near's pessimism?" he wondered, patting himself for a handkerchief. "And since when was anyone besides me allowed to accept flowers from him?" A petulant frown tugged at his lips as he gathered the aconitum into a silk kerchief.

Matt rolled his eyes again. "Just tell me where I need to take him and what happens when we get there."

So Mello explained to Matt the route they were to take and the place where they would eventually meet Mello and a group of his trusted guards. They would travel beyond the borders of the land and the queen's reach, and perhaps, there, they could be at peace. He watched Matt as he spoke, suddenly aware of how truly fortunate he was to possess such a friend, who carried poison, an easy smile, an unquenchable loyalty, and Mello's complete trust.

Mello had finished with his instructions; Matt nodded and turned to go.

"Matt?"

He glanced back.

"Thanks."

"Anytime." Out the door and under his breath, "Maybe the last time."

XXX

Mikami had always liked his afternoon tea with a dash of brown sugar. Being in the queen's special guard had its perks; the luxury wasn't afforded to anyone else in the palace. This afternoon, however, proved less than kind to his sweet tooth. He'd added his usual pinch of sugar and taken a gentlemanly sip only to find he couldn't taste the sweetness. Six consecutive, progressively larger pinches later, he found himself less and less able to taste anything at all, as well as more and more nauseated and light-headed… Light?

Light? He was supposed to…

The cup fell to the ground. Long golden hair shrouded a fair face hovering just outside the room. A breath expired in relief, and then it was fast and uneven again as Mello glided down the hall.

_Just a little longer, Near, love… _

-present-

_Horses are very uncomfortable, _Near thought somewhat grumpily after three hours of riding. His tailbone hurt, and he was sandwiched between Matt and the horse's neck. Matt said its name was Blue. Near hadn't asked why, although obviously it wasn't because it was blue. As Blue loped over the ups and downs of an isolated mountain road, Near's head often struck the underside of Matt's chin. When he tried to lean forward, he found his face in too much proximity to Blue's shaggy grey mane, which did not at all help by blowing in his eyes under a light breeze.

_You've worse things to worry about, _Matt thought, observing the smaller boy's squirming. _But of course, you can't be bothered about the possibility of you dying._

'Down the normal road, past the stand of elder trees, until you're in the foothills of the mountain,' Mello had said. 'I doubt anyone will be watching past then, but just to be safe, keep to the road until you reach the fork, and then make east-'

And he would have kept on going and going if Matt hadn't cut in and said he knew very well the fastest way to get out of the country and would Mello please stop acting like he knew it better than Matt, never mind the fact that it was down in Mello's future job description to act like he was smarter than others.

Mello, for once, had listened to him. And then they'd parted ways with an odd farewell, like they knew this all was going to happen.

They approached the fork in the road, and with it came new hope for Matt. _We've gotten this far, maybe this won't all play out like a damned Shakespearean tragedy… _he pulled his goggles up over his eyes and scanned the forest to either side. Nothing moved.

"What happens to us after this?" Near asked, softly, childlike.

Matt took that to mean 'what do Matt, Mello, and Near do after they get out of this hell country.' He took his time answering.

"_You_ probably will just flop down in the first garden you come across and make yourself at home," Matt forecast. "Mello will brainstorm ways to overthrow Light, and I… may not be with 'us' for long."

"Why not?"

"I don't suppose you've given much thought to the fate of a poor servant like me, but Light has my name," Matt said acridly. "Even if she loves Mello, there's nothing to stop her from killing me for facilitating your escape."

Near twisted around to look at Matt. "You're right, I hadn't thought about it. So what if she does?"

"I thought you were the expert on dying, Near? Not afraid to die, yet not caring whether or not you do? Is it still like that for you?"

"I have found…" Near began and broke off. He turned back to face the front and spoke into Blue's mane. "You don't sound afraid," abruptly switching subjects.

"I'm not, fundamentally. I'm just afraid of leaving you and Mello with everything still undone."

"You grew up fast, Matt. It's only been a month since I met you."

"Somehow, you and Mello needed me to," Matt said, ruffling Near's hair absently.

_Need me to die for you, _he thought as something stirred in the corner of Quillsh's lenses. He spurred Blue to the left and bolted away through the trees, though they were still two miles short of their turning point.

Behind them, three hooded figures on horseback strung wicked crossbows and gave chase. Malice sparked from their steeds' hooves.

XXX

_I'm not afraid, _Near told himself firmly. _This pounding of my heart, this rapid breathing, this churning in my stomach is just a physical response to something my soul does not fear._

That said, Near didn't exactly want to increase the chances that he did die, so he huddled into Blue's neck, trying to make himself as small as possible. The pursuers didn't sound very far behind; they were shouting commands to halt, and Near could hear the twang of crossbows and the whip of arrows. He shuddered despite himself.

_So this is how it's like to be the prey? _Matt thought detachedly. They were coming to a clearing, and soon no trees would impede the flight of the arrows. He would die, and Near would die, and Blue would die -

"Dear Mello," Near whispered. If Matt hadn't been almost hunched over the smaller boy, he wouldn't have heard the words, spoken as if in prayer. He drew a heavy dagger from its sheath at his hip. If it was the last thing he did (and at this rate, it very likely would be), Matt would see to it that Near escaped alive, and he would kill those bedeviled mercenaries.

They thundered into the clearing, and without warning, Matt pulled Blue right around - here came one of them not a hundred yards away - wait, just one? - never mind, no time to think, his arm moved faster than his mind - Blue charged, Matt threw his dagger, then swerved left to duck the other's arrow- the other man took it straight through the eye - done, phew, now where were the rest? - oh…

Well, the arrow digging wickedly into his right side explained where the second one came from. Another horseman cantered out of the trees from the other side of the clearing. _Damn, they split up and circled around… _

The pain blurred the world to his eyes, but Matt didn't need precision for his trump card. Though admittedly, he was playing it a little early.

_Who knew Grandfather's inventions would come in so handy? _Matt thought as he leaned as far as he could to the side and lobbed a small, dense sphere at the oncoming enemy. Blinding flash of light, deafening explosion, and the strained whinny of a fallen horse. Matt regretted hurting the animal, but - ah…

XXX

Near's eyes and ears twinged, but the explosive seemed to have served its purpose: the man fell from his wounded horse. However, the next moment, he half rose from the ground, took aim, and fired again. At least, that was what Near had been able to surmise while peering through Blue's mane and listening to the snap of the bowstring and the cruel _thunk _and gasp of pain that meant Matt had been hit.

Matt had fallen to the ground, Near was on a half-crazed, panicked horse, another enemy was unaccounted for, his thoughts frenzied about, they were really going to die, and then Blue had the initiative to charge over the enemy rider and trample him magnificently. Near couldn't tell, but he seemed to be quite dead.

A hacking cough behind them; Blue turned and made straight for her fallen master. Near slipped down and knelt by his side.

The two arrows had pierced him in the right and upper left lungs - too close to his heart. Near reflexively reached for Blue's saddlebags, where he'd brought some restoratives, though none would suffice for life-threatening wounds; Matt forced glassy eyes halfway open.

"Near."

Said boy paused amid his frantic riffling through his stores, and Matt motioned for him to come close.

"Leave me… take Blue…"

"But -"

"Go… where no one will find you…"

"But -"

"No, Near, you take your buts and put them up _your _butt, but you listen to me first. I'm dead, that's a given, but if you're dead too, there's… _no one… _to save Mello from himself."

Near choked back a sob for the first time in four years.

"I don't… want to have died… for nothing… if it's not too much to ask…"

Tears flooded both pale faces. Blue nudged Matt's outstretched hand mournfully.

"Blue… take care of Near. Get away from here… you know the way, don't you? There's… at least one guy out there still… I think I hear them coming…"

"Near… please."

_I have to go - I can't leave him - I have to go - I can't leave him - have to go - can't leave - have to - can't _

"Dear Mello," faintly escaped Matt's bloody lips.

_Mello._

Near leaned over and kissed Matt on the forehead. Blue had knelt down on her forelegs, so he could scramble on. With a last look at his friend, he tore away as if the hounds of hell ran at their heels.

XXX

_Not a moment too soon, _Matt thought, his world fading; more horses were coming through the forest.

"Matt!"

_Mello._

_Damn._

XXX

A/N: Eh, if anyone still read this, then I feel slightly bad for springing this on you. I'm most likely going to give up on this fic - I just had to get rid of this last chapter. Yeah... the whole story should have been much shorter, like my other fairy tale fic, but I ended up not liking the whole idea after I wrote several chapters. Boo me. I'm sure there's much better MelloxNear on this site, if you look carefully. Yep, so, sorries if you were waiting on me (eh, nope). I'm trying to get something written on MattMello, dunno how it's working out o_o


End file.
